Oh, dear reader, I've started painting again! I guess for people who aren’t so artistically inclined, it's like going through a dry spell only to come across a rain storm; it is what you would call a rain well needed. I think it's been months. Months! Although, I'm sure there are things to dampen that (IE: bills, shitty school, work and all that it entails, etc...) I don't care right now. All I care about now is winning those damn cat-eye glasses.
Date/Time:Friday, May 5, 2006/10:23 p.m.
Update to the previous entry: There was a fifty dollar bill stuck way in the back of the register. Naturally, it was my fault although I don't ever remember taking two fifty dollar bills. And I quote, " Did you tell her you found her money?" I mean, they couldn't have possibly made the mistake. They don't make mistakes.
Date/Time:Thursday, May 4, 2006/10:43 p.m.
Stress, stress, stress. That's all there is this dizzy, drunk, funny feeling in my stomach. I have no control over it. The drawer came up short, and to make matters more complicated we didn't balance when I started my shift so the "problem" could have happened anywhere. Naturally being little, modest me, I want to stick the blame on myself, however my memory seems to think otherwise. The change drawer was also short twenty. Now if the change drawer is short twenty, and the cash drawer is short forty, then what the hell?
What the fucking hell?
Anyways, I'm trying to be relaxed about it. According my memory, I did everything right and the only change I took out were the quarters in which I reimbursed (as directed). I cannot speak for those who operated the drawer before me, or while I was away from the counter, all I can do is relax, dear reader. Just relax.
Date/Time:Saturday, April 29, 2006/07:02 p.m.
Misogyny? Misogyny’s a joke. How can you spit and fuck, and beat a cunt, deep down inside knowing the truth; you in fact were created from a cunt. You came from your own mother’s cunt, and without her you would be nothing. You would be a lost load in the back door and a blood clot soaked into a tampon. Your dick: it’s nothing more than a hunk of throbbing flesh that was pieced together from within your mother’s cunt. You kicked, screamed and cried when the doctor pulled you from her cunt, and you’ve been bitter ever since. The first fuck was the fuck of your mother, you mother fucker. You beat and fuck cunts, and this whole time you’re just aching for another fuck from your mother. A whole nine months of fucking.
Date/Time:Thursday, April 27, 2006/10:03 p.m.
Well, I just had to call 3-1-1 because some fuck up of a shitty parent was drunk, sitting on the curb with her leashed dog and her scared little girl that wasn't sure what the hell to do. The woman was yelling, calling this guy a pedophile because he was saying to the little girl, "Your mother's drunk, little girl. Your. Mother. Is. Drunk." Meanwhile, this woman, this oh-so wonderful parent is screaming, yelling, "--Inaudible name of the little girl--, GET OVER HERE!" She turns to the guy, standing by his car with the door open," YOU, PEDOPHILE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TRYING TO TALK TO MY LITTLE GIRL?! --Inaudible name of the little girl--! COME HERE!" Now, if it was just the woman, I wouldn't have given two fucks, but the girl (and the puppy) is what made me kind of pissed. Some people should be sterilized.
Date/Time:Wednesday, April 26, 2006/11:57 a.m.
Well, this has definitely been an interesting morning. With my other half reluctantly pulling himself out of bed only to rush out the door BEFORE me. I really do not know what to do with myself without all this tiptoeing and what have you. And now I've lost my trail of thought...
(Heard too much about...)
Date/Time:Wednesday, April 26, 2006/02:25 a.m.
Why am I on here? Why?
Date/Time:Saturday, April 22, 2006/05:39 p.m.
I pass by this man before work everyone in a while. He's this tall man with a grey beard that's a wonderful contrast to his skin that's about as dark as the end of a used match. He wears his baby blue work short; on it stitched his name tag in that classic cursive writing. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen his eyes because of his sunglasses. He's a real sweetheart or about as sweet as a complete stranger can be. Today, I had picked a not-quite-ripe dandelion from this nice patch of grass that exists in this sand covered city, right before the intersection that I cross two times a day, five days a week. I offered him this flower of politeness in the hopes to make his day a little less terrible (if it was terrible at all), and he gladly accepted. The tip of his fingers were cold, and it's strange because I run so hot, especially in this climate that is so hot and dry. He's a nice guy, that guy.
Date/Time:Friday, April 21, 2006/12:59 p.m.
Here, I’m sipping what tastes like over sugared cherry juice (typical from Minute Maid) in nothing but undergarments and a pair of wrinkled jeans I just pulled from the dryer. I have many songs of the Ramones stuck in my head, and there’s some kind of cheese substance on the keyboard I just smeared with my left thumb. Cigarette ashes are everywhere, and it makes me feel as if I'm typing in some sort of set for a cheap independent flick.
I just wanted to document that.
Date/Time:Friday, April 21, 2006/12:05 a.m.
I was casually walking next to a co-worker of mine to 7/11. I remember the sky being a burnt sienna with the lighting about as dim as a room lit with a flickering candle. Here, the only thing that washed the pavement were unnatural fluorescent lights that hum and keep punching you in the face with a terrible, but efficiently bright, light quality.
While walking out of those glass doors smeared with finger prints, I had this sudden feeling of elation. It had nothing to do with who I was accompanied with, but more with my complete surroundings. It had everything to do with the exact placement of everything: the sound, the people, the lights, the ground, the sky--everything.
It happened again, earlier while on my break, chewing tapioca balls from the tai tea, reading Simone De Beauvoir inside of this Japanese fast food restaurant that is right behind work. The only light was the light from outside, and the sounds that were heard were from subtle mechanical sounds of machines and dishes being clanked together. Here, I thanked a man for paying sixteen cents for my drink, and then later on observed another hold the door for a fat woman talking on her cell phone, dressed in blue scrubs and tacky sunglasses, who didn't even offer a thank you, not even a glance or nod or wave.
Fuck, I hate cell phones.
As an aside, my other half and I were thinking of creating a review blog for new-but-old N.E.S games we have bought within the last week or so. Sounds like a good idea, yeah?
Date/Time:Wednesday, April 19, 2006/11:08 p.m.
Sloppy kisses: my life was full of sloppy, silly kisses.
Even my first kiss, technically with this little dusty haired boy with black nerd glasses in first grade, was quick, awkward and followed with him running around screaming his new found confidence within the kiss I so reluctantly had given him (Was it given? I cannot remember.)
Fast forward into high school when this boy (yes, I will call him a boy) was ever so inclined to express his crush on me with little pieces of candy, silly notes, and this big introduction of handing this seventy-five cent carnation sold in the cafeteria that day (in which he had to borrow from a very good friend of mine)to me in front of everyone having lunch that day. I blushed and shied away like some sort of little girl approached while holding onto her mother's dress; this, dear reader, was the opening of a door I still have yet to close. He was rather pale with black hair, green eyes, and riddled with a slight curse of acne. He had this gross self confidence about him that I think girls picked up and fawned over in their little whispers to one another. He went to shows and considered himself a music snob (seeing that he would write little excerpts from tasteless bands all over notes, and I would respond with silly pictures [but the best I could do at the time]). I don't think it was his appearance that attracted me to him, but his overt willingness to want to be close to me without even flinching. Here, after many notes, phone calls, picked flowers, and candy, I had gone on my first date with him (accompanied by my trustee friend because I was afraid to go alone) and sat in a very dark theatre with nothing happening, nothing. After the drive home (I still smile a little and hide my face but only with embarrassment) he walked me up to my friends porch and came in for only a brief second. I had accompanied him to the door, and I just kind of leaned up and there you have it: long, sloppy kisses with that melted warm feeling. I can proudly say, however, nothing really evolved from it, just a well worn reason why men and boys alike are, for the most part, dogs.
My first actual date alone and my first boyfriend was with this rather tall, husky guy, but in same perspective soft, and very fragile. He had this pleasingly roundhead and the grown out,(I want to say mop top, but not that messy) hair cut to accentuate it, not to mention those insane blue eyes that hid under that unwashed hair. He was plush and my friends always commented that he had "woman hips". Despite this, after running about with another friend of mine and him, I took the dive into my first actual relationship that tasted of hot saliva, chapped lips, and a certain distinct taste of mints and breathe. He had this frailty about him that lured me into him, but I feel this was only out of curiosity. Within the week we were together, he walked me to class, came over, and just showed me around places that I did not know existed. However, I just could not force myself to be attracted to him, nor could I admit to myself that physical appearances persuaded me so easily. I felt so strange and that week dragged on for I don't know how long. I finally got the nerve (around the same friend that this relationship had started oddly enough) to end it, and that was that. There were a few times that he came around to jumpstart things, but I couldn't let that happen. I just couldn't.
So that leads me here, sitting in front of a computer screen, tapping away at past memories that are as fleeting as butterflies. Here, with my virginity long gone to a tall man that is made of devil's teeth and aftershave that brings tears as easily as he sheds them. Everyday for two years I have interacted with him, and yet he sheds a skin (or two) and invokes something within me that makes me sick and shake uncontrollably. Sloppy kisses? We've shared plenty. Ask me about each occurrence and I couldn't tell you one. Only the one within the airport parking garage and the one outside of Lee's Discount Liquor..
Date/Time:Saturday, April 15, 2006/11:47 p.m.
Dear reader, I had written down this long entry. It was long, heartfelt and it was almost as if someone had unlocked the key to my birdcage and set me free. It was melted all over and yet it was packaged and ready to be thrown into the ocean and I lost it. I lost it all in my desperate attempt to rip serial codes for The Sims Online (in which failed miserably, mind you). You see, I hit paste, and in my dizziness and concentration I must have lost it when all the windows shut. Anyhow, I will try my best to recover what is left of it in my little gingerbread head of mine :
I didn't get the feeling to write back my own mother, or even my other half's ex, but only myself. I admittedly was reading her blog, and a certain entry left a strange, funny feeling in my chest. My eyes paced back and forth over the words she had spontaneously (or possibly very carefully as to not let her master degree be in vain) written and I couldn't help but feel that walking stick like insect of a feeling crawl slowly up my stomach, lungs, and then nestle itself gently in the hollow of my throat. I fell into a hole of time I did not belong in; a time of my other half and her, attempting to fit their mismatching pieces together which was seemingly logical at the time (to much of their frustration, did not work no matter which way they flipped them). Here, around this time of mismatched puzzle pieces, I was this naive little, uniformed girl in school with not even enough nerve to look anyone in the eye. Yes, this girl who on her eighteenth birthday got on a plane to meet a man whom she hadn't even made eye contact with couldn't even lift her eyes off the school floor and cradled her books in her arms instead of boys. While my eyes traced along cracks in floors, far away pictures were taken, letters were written, videos recorded, and love was made and broken. Even today lies scrapbooks in the bedroom closet with pages of her dyed black hair and seemingly blue eyes looking, blinking, smiling with him behind the camera and vice versa; This time gap that is somehow preserved (like our poor crawfish in formaldehyde sitting on our bookshelf) within pictures, videos, and love letters. This feeling of jealousy awakens the walking stick and I cannot help but hurl myself into this hole in which I do not belong. I think to myself, "Our puzzle pieces have always matched, just packaged in two different boxes." He has always been mine even when I was not even aware such a man had existed in this absurd world. These boxes full of documented moments are wide open, even when such boxes are destroyed or what have you. Memories fade and so do photographs. The past becomes, like our dead, displaced, fuzzy and eventually made into its own memory. So, what do we make of our past experiences? Or maybe the question is what have our past experiences made of us?
As I reflect upon this, I realize I owe this girl an apology; this attractive, sweet girl who writes me casual yet friendly messages. We are all entitled to glance back at our memories and where we were in our lifetimes. We are allowed to feel no matter if the things that invoke such emotion are lost, dead, or no longer your own.
We all at one time had (or still have) open boxes and lost puzzle pieces.
Date/Time:Saturday, April 15, 2006/09:03 a.m.
It's around nine-o-clock in the morning and my other half's asleep on the floor by the bed, and the whole house has this humid feel to it. He was cooking us both breakfast, but I took over in noticing his obvious incompacity to cook at this time. My face is breaking out, everything's humid, and I have to leave at nine thirty to get to work on time. I feel so gross. I also have terrible pain in between my thighs that just pulsates warmth and blood.
Good note(s): I have a NES, breakfast is good, it's nice and breezy out, and everything in general is alright.
Date/Time:Friday, April 14, 2006/10:07 p.m.
Headlights were bouncing off of the wet pavement. It started to sprinkle then rain in that spontaneous way that is usually occurs here (This is why my other half and I share a brief comment at the absurdity of the weathermen, make some silly comment in regards to how much time the weather actually takes out of the news, and how wrong they are when it comes to rain). I was lucky I had brought my little, yellow umbrella with me as well as my jacket. The wind was hard, and at time I thought my poor, little umbrella wouldn't hold up but it did! This weather is so unpredictable, it's disgusting: HOT, cold, faIR, HOT, HOT, HOT, r-a-i-n, then finally cold. For some reason today, while I was walking with my little, yellow umbrella I felt a sense of accomplishment. My umbrella and I are the same, yeah? If my little umbrella could feel do you think it would feel proud that it just didn't snap in half? Well, regardless, I'm proud of my umbrella as well as myself. We made it through the hard wind and the annoying, off-and-on rain.
We finally received our two NESs we brought off e-bay a week ago today. It was a rather interesting, but terribly lovely adventure this morning when I was awakened with the soft click of the light. After bringing the package home from the post office, we plugged everything in and had to fight with it to make it work, as I had to when I was eight. Work was bullshit, but outside of work everything was fine. My soon to be husband is fine, the cats are fine, the house is fine, I am fine. Everything is fine.
(Time to cue all hell breaking loose.[This is the pessimist speaking.])
Date/Time:Thursday, April 13, 2006/01:18 p.m.
I'm eating a tofu sandwich. By sandwich i mean fried tofu stuck between two pieces of bread with some kind of Asian hot sauce. Is it good? Yeah, it's alright.
After feeling like a beached whale, I woke up to feel swollen today; like some sort of dead cat filling up with bacteria. For some reason, my body just hasn't been the same since I started consuming white rice on my last two days, during lunch. I told myself no more. I love the hell out of white rice, but I think it messes up my digestive system. From now on, brown everything: Brown sugar, brown rice, whole grain bread, whole grain pasta, etc...
I just walked outside, and it feels like the ovens on low. Holy fucking hell.
Date/Time:Wednesday, April 12, 2006/08:06 p.m.
Well, I must write instead of juggling all these thoughts in my brain instead trying to make them magically disappear like sugar in warm water, which won't happen. I decided to wear a normal shirt to and from work. You know, not the usual, lame work short with the store's logo. I wanted to wear one of my own shirts and it worked out fine in the morning. It was on my way home that I felt rather FAT. Yes, dear reader, FAT. I can't explain but I felt the entire world was just staring, looking at the FAT, weird girl walking down the sidewalk with her cigarette box purse, and her pink work short slung over her arm. Things like this make me feel so tired, and I hate feeling tired. I hate feeling FAT. I know I'm not FAT, it's a ridiculous thought, but it slays me. It slays me because I'm better than that; I'm better than making myself feel inferior in public. All I could think about was that skinny girl in her car with air-condition and her tinted windows. All I could imagine was my FAT self waiting for the cross walk sign to switch to the little walking person. Walking. FAT.
Date/Time:Monday, April 10, 2006/10:24 p.m.
(Continued from previous entry)
L) Analyzation of the main objects within the story in parallel to my life:
Research Team My other half.
Director of Research My other half.
One-Way Mirror How he views me.
Toys Good things/ experiences.
Manure Bad things/ experiences.
Boy Other people.
National Contest Life.
Operational Definition-Goal of Research My emotion.
M) The story would have been different in the reaction of both the girl and the boy. I probably would not have voiced my dissatisfaction within the toys, but I would have picked them up, then dropped them on the floor only to have the same reaction with the next toy. After all presents are opened, I would reject all gifts and leave feeling rather disappointed and frustrated. As for the boy, I would have called for a pony, and when one did not seem present I would complain and beg to be let out of the room with the same feeling of disappointment, only magnified with annoyance. I cannot speak for the research team.
N) Today parallels this story. My other half and I were going to fly a kite, despite the pain in his knee. He offered pizza and renting movies afterward, and I shrugged them off because I was disappointed this was my last day of the weekend. I was also upset with him for upsetting me for the past couple of days because of an absurd comment I spontaneously made out of being playfully picked on by him. While flying the kite, I kept making negative comments about: the constant flow of cars that kept getting in our way, the direction of the wind, and the fact that he could fly the kite better than I could. This lead to his frustration and anger towards me, and pretty much led me to answering these questions with dried tears on my face, and him asleep in the other room; no movies, no pizza, no more kite flying.
O) My constant criticizing in things that do not live up to my full expectations that happen to be out of my control, my constant sadness and disappointment within situations that do not go my way, my constant worry within absurd things, and the feeling of inevitable failure no matter what I aim to do.
I will do the rest later. I am tired and I need a shower.
Date/Time:Monday, April 10, 2006/09:47 p.m.
I feel that half of me has died. I am lugging about half my body around and sobbing uncontrollably all because of myself. I found this webpage.
These are my answers :
A) I identify with the girl.
B) I am constantly disappointed by new experiences, despite the overall concept of these experiences. Although these toys are free, they are broken. What's the point of free toys if they are not what I had expected/worn/broken? The boy I cannot identify with because I would be to upset too be in a room full of manure.
C) I probably would have been upset with the whole situation of being offered unwanted/worn/broken toys. I would have left very much upset, and bitter towards those who had promised something I did not find.
D) I Would have been very upset to be put in a room with full of horse manure. In fact, I would have been very angry and bitter towards those who put me in such a situation.
E) I lose out in the respect of I cannot appreciate experiences as they are, and thus have a memory of nothing more than disappointments and worry. I'm also losing out on a very valuable relationship that is going to hell because of my frame of thinking and reactions of such thinking.
F) I begin to look, then I am discouraged by outside forces in my life. Not very hard.
G) I probably would have made, or at least thought, the exact same comments. I find them to be very reasonable.
H) Although, I feel that this is a very interesting experiment, the girl was inevitably going to fail because the researchers played upon her pessimism by setting her up for disappointment. On the other hand, the boy was also set up to fail, and was set up for disappointment. The winner was the boy, because although he was covered in manure and still pony-less, he had hope and believed that he could still find the pony in the manure covered room. The boy had hope, while the only thing the girl had was bitterness.
I) I sometimes feel that I don't deserve such gifts for whatever reason, and feel there are others who need them more than I do. I try to accept things very graciously with hugs and “thank you”s and most of the time, I do. With some compliments, I shoot them down with disregarding, pessimistic comments about myself.
J) I am constantly stuck in the manure of life, and instead of trying to find the pony I just want out of the room all together. I refuse to look for the pony, and all I want is to be out of the gross situation. I can live without the pony.
K) I am missing out on a big part of my life for fear of disappointment, and I am greatly disappointed when things do not go as I expect them to. Because of this, I suffer emotionally with worry, depression, and at times physically with aches and pains all over.